More Than Misunderstood
by AJ Archer
Summary: Work in progress. A new take on Slytherin House in Harry's year, from Draco's POV. See Intelligent!Crabbe and Goyle, GirlyBoy!Blaise and realise exactly why Slytherins might stick to their own. Welcoming constructive criticism. Edited for errors.
1. Default Chapter

_Knock knock._

Draco Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and gave the closed door an insolent look before turning back to the large leather-bound book in front of him. If he closed his eyes, and ignored the chill, he could imagine himself in his father's study, curled up on the couch his father kept in one corner by the fireplace. It had been Draco's spot. He could be near Lucius Malfoy even when his father was working, reading through the collection of fascinating books on the shelves. And if Draco had begun to whisper the incantations (as he'd tended to when he was young) Lucius would merely say, 'Draco,' and he would cease.

He'd learnt quickly that he was not to be heard during meetings, especially those at which Cornelius Fudge or Mr Dolohov or Mr McNair or any of Lucius' other "friends" were present. Half-terrified, half-fascinated, Draco had not even read for fear the sound of the pages would attract attention. Later, if Lucius felt he'd been good enough, there would be a puzzle box on the pillow when Draco went to bed. Draco loved puzzles. His mother often enclosed a smallbox withhis sweets packages to Hogwarts.

Oh, and the presents were good, too.

Things had become tenser last year. He'd been discussing OWLs with his father when Lucius had suddenly grabbed his left forearm as if in pain. Draco had never seen his father in pain. He was once reading in the study while Lucius wrote a letter and had looked up to see a tall, black-robed figure during Christmas holidays. His blood had turned to ice and he'd stayed huddled on the couch until after the Dark Lord had left and Lucius noticed him.

Lucius had come over and sat next to his son. Draco had not dared to ask all of the millions of questions screaming through his mind. After a long moment, Lucius had said, 'Come here, Draco.'

For a long time, Draco had stayed in his father's arms, trying to rationalise the debilitating terror that had kept him from even trying to get out of sight. There had been no admonitions for weakness, no attempts at explaining, nothing but the ebbing roar in Draco's ears and the warmth of Lucius' embrace.

It was this moment that had shattered him after Lucius Malfoy was arrested in the Ministry of Magic and put in Azkaban. Draco had not seen his father since then. Yes, there had been a break out - and Draco always imagined a very daring and exciting escape in which Lucius fought off hordes of Aurors and guards and had to get past cunning traps and generally had lots of breathtaking near-misses and -

_Knock knock knock._

'What?!' Draco snapped.

'Can I come in, Draco?'

Draco flopped onto his back dramatically. Pansy Parkinson, his violet-eyed love, had been trying to - as she put it – "pull him out of this sulk" ever since school had begun. All of Slytherin knew about Lucius. All of them knew, too, that Draco missed his father dreadfully, and gave him space. He knew he should feel pleased that she was trying so hard, but he couldn't seem to muster up the emotion.

'I'm studying, Pansy.'

'That's perfect, I need someone to test me.' He didn't answer and after a moment she spoke again. 'So open up, won't you?'

If he said no, she'd come back later. Or, even worse - if he said no, she might not come back at all. He sighed. 'Zabini is a girly little ponce,' he intoned.

The door opened and Pansy came in, her pretty little mouth covered with one hand. 'Draco, you're horrible.'

He shrugged, eyes on her. 'You're beautiful. That's three true sentences in ten seconds. Those Gryffindors better watch themselves - we're about to lose our monopoly on lying if this keeps up.'

'I like your dry sarcasm.' She closed the door and sat down beside him. She was wearing that soft green jumper he'd given her for the singular purpose of seeing her wear it. Maybe instead of sulking he should have been getting comforted. 'So… how are things?'

'Looking up.' He tucked his tongue in his cheek. "You didn't dress up just for me. Did you?"

She laughed and stroked his hair without answering. 'Are you taking a break from solitude? The whole House will drop dead.'

'You seem very alive to me. Come down here, give me a hug.'

'I thought we were studying. I brought my writing book and everything.' She leaned down a little.

He stifled a snort. She brought the damned thing everywhere. _Everywhere_. 'All work and no play make Draco a sulky boy.'

'So that's what's been the problem - no play?' Pansy's eyes sparkled.

Draco chuckled for the first time in a long while. It hadn't been all that funny, true, but being alone and unhappy was getting him even more depressed, and he hadn't realised it until he had someone else to talk to. 'Maybe. Are you here to cheer me up, wearing the jumper I gave you and your hair all down like this?' He twirled a golden corkscrew curl around his finger.

She bumped her forehead to his lightly. 'Only if you think it might work. Talk to me.'

'About what?'

'Your father. That's why you're sad, isn't it? If you tell me about it, you'll feel better.'

'Well, what if I don't?'

'Then we'll try something else.'

Give and take, he supposed. 'All right… what about him?'

She set her writing book carefully down on his night table and slipped her shoes off, then cuddled up to him on the bed, which made things warmer and softer and curvier. Nice. 'Just tell me a story. Then if you like, I'll tell you a story.'

He fidgeted with his duvet. 'You first. I don't know what to say yet.'

"Okay." She told him about the time they and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had been playing hide and seek and she'd gotten lost. As Draco had been 'seeking', he was the one who had realised that either Pansy had picked one hell of a hiding place or something wasn't right when the sun began to redden with the coming sunset. His father had gone into the woods surrounding the manor and walked back out carrying a tear-streaked seven year old.

It had been about that time, Draco mused, that he'd come to see Lucius as a hero who could do anything.

Pansy recounted how she'd gone into the trees to hide and run from a pair of red eyes in a bush, getting herself hopelessly lost. She'd wandered around for hours, crying, and finally tired out next to a huge tree. A 'monster' had come and chased her up into the branches. Unfortunately, not only had it not given up, she couldn't get back down. Lucius had come and rescued her and healed her scrapes.

'I think he approved of me,' she said shyly.

'Oh, he did. And does.' Draco nodded vigorously. He had always been encouraged to play at the Parkinsons' or to invite Pansy over. Later that had become "study together" and "escort Pansy to insert-place-here". It had been expected that they attend the Yule Ball together. Last Valentine's, they'd exchanged gifts and had dinner not a meter from where they were lying. 'I think he rather fancies blondes.'

She giggled. 'You're joking, aren't you? Go on, it's your turn.'

Bugger.

He opened his mouth, but a _knock knock THUD THUD_ came at the door.

'Don't answer,' Pansy whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

It was a difficult decision to make. On one hand, he wouldn't have to talk about Lucius. On the other, there was a chance of a snog or more if he played his cards right.

There was nothing to get a lad's spirits back up if not kissing a pretty girl.

_Knock. Knock. THUD._

'Malfoy, quit being a little berk and open the door, it's important.'

Draco muttered some words he would lose House points for and sat up. Why the hell was Blaise Zabini at his door? 'Sod off, Zabini. Everything's important when it's you.'

The door burst open and Blaise strode in with Vince and Greg at his heels. Draco frowned- Millicent Bulstrode was usually with Vince and Greg but she wasn't behind them now. 'Nice wards,' Blaise said by way of greeting. 'Took me a moment.'

'I live to challenge and entertain you. What is it? We were busy.' Glancing at Pansy, who was looking a bit put out, Draco noticed the book he'd been reading. It was Greg's copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_, in German. 'Greg, I swear I'll give it back as soon as I'm done - just one more time.'

'He's barely noticed, Draco,' Vince assured him. 'He's going through the drawing phase again.' He spoke slowly, with a thick accent. 'But it isn't that. Isn't, right Pansy?'

Next to Draco Pansy nodded and smiled.

'It's Millicent. You're the goodest at healing spells…'

'Best,' Pansy corrected gently. 'Remember, it's good, better, best.'

Vince's face turned a dull red. 'Right - best. You're best at healing spells. Millicent needs your help.'

There were times when Draco wondered about the actual qualifications for Slytherin House. Sometimes he swore that the bloody Hat simply picked all of the outcasts, the misfits, and the off-kilter eleven-year-olds and stuck them in a House where they would have to bond with each other or get eaten alive by the other three. Greg was autistic and didn't talk very much, but he could read through books at the speed of light and scribble amazing drawings of, well, anything. Vince was only now managing good sentences in English and also didn't speak often for fear of being laughed at. Blaise was, to be honest, a girly little ponce with long, wavy dark hair and large brown eyes - most of Hogwarts was still unsure if he was male or female. Pansy had a dangerous obsession with writing; dangerous because she often forgot to do anything else. Millicent fell into long stints of depression because of her weight, but more because of her mother's incessant harping on it. Theo Nott was a compulsive neat freak. Cassandra Claire had occasional panic attacks and kept a large stash of Calming Draughts in her dressing table. Daphne Greengrass couldn't stand to be touched at all.

And those were just off the top of Draco's head.

'What's happened to her?' Draco got up and pulled his robes on over his head. 'Is anyone with her?'

'Daphne is.' Blaise smoothed his shirt. 'We're not altogether sure what happened. She's bleeding.'

'Why didn't you say so?' Draco went to shove past them, worried now, but Blaise and Vince blocked him. Greg was shaking his head, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond Draco's left shoulder. 'What? Move, why aren't we going?'

'It's complicated, mate.'

'Are you quite mad? Millicent, bleeding somewhere, with Daphne, who probably couldn't get over her fear in order to put pressure on it. And we're still standing here?'

'She's done it again, hasn't she,' Pansy said suddenly, standing. 'Where is she, Blaise?'

'Pansy, what?' Draco looked back at her. 'She did what again?'

She shook her head. 'I can handle this - I'll be back.'

Draco drew himself up to his full height. Blaise and Vince took a step back. 'Millicent is hurt somewhere. I will not just sit here. Where is she? We are going to her. _Now_.'

Millicent was curled up in the fetal position on the floor of the girls' bath, wand beside her in a pool of bloody water. She had clothes on, to Draco's relief. Daphne was sitting next to her looking stricken and attempting to console without touching her.

Draco strode right up to the pair and hoped to Salazar this would work. 'Millicent, sit up,' he commanded. 'If you are hurt, I will heal you. If you know what happened, you will tell me. If someone has caused you pain, I will take care of them. Nod if you understand me.'

He called it his inner Severus Snape for the authority and strength every Slytherin came to depend on starting their first night in the dungeon. Caught without his Head of House or even a prefect around, Draco had been forced to step up when no one else had. He knew what he responded to, so he had tried it that first time and had been relieved to discover that handling any of his Housemates was an awful lot like how Professor Snape or even Lucius handled him. It was why he was supposedly the "Prince of Slytherin".

Millicent was a modern day Amazon. She was built like a brick shithouse and she knew it was unlikely to change no matter what she ate or how she exercised. It probably would not have been a problem but for Mrs Bulstrode, who was certain that her daughter simply did not put enough effort into losing weight. Personally, Draco couldn't picture Millicent any other way. She could break people in half, given a reason! Who wouldn't want a girl like that around?

(Admittedly, a good clincher of Draco's opinion on Millicent had come from the still-treasured memory of Hermione Granger whimpering in the hold Millicent had had on her that day second year.)

It was strange to see her in a ball on the floor, trembling and crying. Draco felt a lot better when she nodded and sat up, albeit with blue eyes still streaming. Slowly he knelt down. 'Tell me what happened to you,' he said in a softer but – hopefully - still authoritative voice, then suddenly changed his mind. "On second thought, wait a moment. Blaise, I'd like you to find Cassandra and ask her for a Calming Draught. If she has a problem, tell her I'll replace it at the next opportunity. Vince, go to Professor Snape's office and, if he's there, ask him if I can have a word in… say fifteen minutes. Daphne, I can tell you're uncomfortable. You can leave if you want and thank you for staying with Millicent. Pansy, love, I need to borrow your handkerchief. Greg, you…'

He trailed off because Greg had moved suddenly, over to Millicent. He sat down beside her, still looking vaguely off into space, and then bent his head to rest on her shoulder.

That nearly set Millicent off into fresh sobs.

Pansy pressed her handkerchief into Draco's hand, giving it a squeeze. He smiled up at her as he opened it. It was her mother that taught him the spell he now cast on it, when he'd skinned his knees at the Parkinsons' playing nearly ten years earlier. The soft square of cloth folded itself into a birdlike shape, spread its wings, and flew over to Millicent. The girl smiled through her tears as the bird-kerchief mopped them up with its 'beak' as if with kisses. (A young Draco had been laughing hysterically, but then he was rather ticklish.)

Blaise reappeared with the vial of potion and a smug look and proffered the former to Millicent. Draco suspected that Cassandra hadn't been in her room and Blaise had filched the potion but didn't ask.

'All right. Now you can tell us.'

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to Illusionna for her beta-read of this. (Some things I just couldn't change, however, like thepresents line... it was supposed to be an afterthought.)It started out as a characterisation of Draco and grew to be much more. Hopefully it will continue on its seeming roll. ;) Thank you, Rosaline, that was the best review ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Millicent took a sip of the potion like she was taking tea and looked at Greg shyly, then back at the vial. 'It - it's really rather stupid, Draco… I didn't mean to scare you…'

Draco put a hand up to stop her. 'None of that. It's not stupid. It will never be stupid with me. With us.' He looked around at the others. Blaise mouthed something like "Melodramatic poof" at him. Draco ignored him. 'We're nothing if not friends here, Millicent.'

Millicent's bottom lip quivered. She slowly reached over and picked up her wand. '_Accio_ shoes,' she said. After a moment a pair of very odd looking pink shoes with long ribbons dumped themselves in her lap. 'M – My mother sent me these.'

Pansy covered her mouth with one hand. Draco frowned up from her to Millicent. 'Er… sorry, what are those?'

'I say you burn them and send her the charred ribbons,' Pansy hissed.

Everyone looked up at her in surprise except for Millicent, who laughed weakly. 'Perhaps I should have… but she'd only buy another pair. These are my old toe shoes. I used to dance – ballet, when I was very young.' Her eyes began to gleam again.

'Potion,' Draco said hurriedly.

Another sip. 'When I was very little, my mother wanted me to be a ballerina. I took tons of lessons, went to all sorts of recitals… but I broke my leg and ankle flying. She was very upset with me.'

'Why?'

'She couldn't dance anymore,' Blaise explained. 'Dancing _en pointe_ puts immense stress on the ballerina's body, especially legs, ankles, and feet. Even a well-healed break…' He faltered and turned furiously red as a small snort of laughter escaped Draco. 'You'll do well not to laugh!' he snapped and moved onto Vince's other side to pout.

Luckily, Vince caught Draco's eye and grinned, so it wasn't all him.

'He's right, absolutely.' Millicent nodded. 'I was really depressed. Nothing I could do would make her happy after that. I thought she didn't love me anymore.' Pansy muttered something savagely under her breath and her friend smiled a little. 'Ballet was my only exercise – of course it was plenty while I was practising – so that was when I began getting fa–'

At the same time, Draco, Blaise, Vince, and Pansy coughed or cleared their throats loudly.

'Er… gaining weight.'

'Better.' Vince nodded. Pansy beamed.

'She was always worried about it, but when I turned ten… she was so mean about it, you know… and these shoes, she made sure they stayed on my wall. Like a reminder of how I failed…' Millicent sniffled. 'Before I left for first year here, I hid them really, really well.'

'Bloody good spot, if it's taken her more than five years to find them.'

'Yes, well. Thanks. I was hoping she'd never find them. I guess that was too much to ask.'

'I'd be proud if I managed to hide something from someone that long. Did you use magic at all?'

'Well, no, I wasn't allowed…'

'Even more impressive.'

Pansy gave Draco a pinch and an indignant look.

'I guess so. She wasn't happy about it. She never said anything straight out – she never does, she always makes it the little things, the off-hand comments… she was probably looking for them every spare moment… but you know, about, about the owls…'

'Potion,' Blaise reminded helpfully.

'She's been pestering me to write down everything I eat every day and send it to her so she could _critique_ it or something –' Millicent's voice was rising in both speed and volume.

'Millie, love –' Pansy began.

'And the dress robes she sent were two sizes too small on purpose so I never got to go to the Yule Ball, and she's tried to send me exercise pamphlets like I don't go swimming in the lake every day, and now –'

'Millicent, please,' Vince tried to interrupt.

But Millicent was reaching Granger-speed now. '- she's sent the _bloody fucking shoes_!' she half-sobbed, half-screamed. 'I shouldn't just burn these, I should go home and _burn her_! I wish she would die! I hate her!'

To be quite honest, half of the reason Draco hadn't spoken up was that he was scared out of his wits by the outburst. After the moment of silence following it so he was certain she'd finished and so he could consider his next move, he finally said, 'Good.'

Everyone stared at him.

So he continued. 'You should hate her. There's nothing wrong with hating her. I would, too. But before I get too far along that line, I'd really like to have a quick word on this.' He poked the bloody water, causing tiny ripples. 'That and it's suddenly occurred to me that we're all sitting on the cold floor in the girls' bath. Perhaps we could move somewhere more comfortable?'

_I sound like Father_, he thought very quietly and a surge of both pride and sadness made him shiver.

Millicent swallowed visibly. 'I – you – promise you won't be angry with me?'

'Don't be silly, you could snap me like a twig.'

Blaise let out a cough that could have easily been a badly-concealed laugh. Draco made a mental note to turn all of Blaise's school robes hot pink later.

'But you could tell Professor Snape, and he'll write to my father, and oh he'll be so disappointed in me…'

Draco considered that. 'I can't promise I won't tell Professor Snape. He's our Head of House. He needs to know if something's wrong. And if he decides to write your parents, I can't help that, I can only give him what I think as a prefect. But I really think you want to talk about this. Don't you?'

Millicent opened and closed her mouth several times, blinking rapidly and looking from Draco to the floor and back again. Her gaze caught somewhere about him. 'Pansy,' she said pleadingly.

Pansy sank to the floor and set her book in her lap to touch Millicent's hand. 'It's all right, Millie… it's just us, you know. How could any of us think less of you for it?'

Draco made another mental note to do something very nice for (or to) Pansy later as well. It seemed he was going to have a very busy evening.

Slowly Millicent turned her arm over. There were cuts in her pale skin, mostly closed over with dried blood, but some still seeping. They were not deep; however, he got the distinct impression this was not the first time it happened. It was also obviously not a suicide attempt, which would probably be Professor Snape's first question when Draco told him – assuming he didn't already know, which would be Draco's first question upon entering the office and inquiring about the Potions Master's health.

Unfortunately, after this discussion, said Potions Master would most likely ask about how Draco was dealing with Lucius' unavailability. Bugger.

Draco glanced up at Millicent to see her expression. Her eyes were a bit misty again. He pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and muttered, '_Medicor_,' poking at her arm. 'Are there more? Come on, I'll fix you up and we can get off the floor. You'll feel better when you're not freezing.'

The cuts on her left arm were deeper and bleeding more. He cast the spell again and looked over his work to see about scarring. He'd done an all right job, but it certainly wasn't his best work. Madam Pomfrey would have made sure that even if Millicent decided to go to some island beach and get a nice tan, nobody would see thin white lines. He needed to practise more, fine-tune it; make it so there was no evidence at all. If any of the seventh-year prefects saw anything, they would immediately take her to the Hospital Wing and all of Hogwarts would know about it by breakfast next morning.

'That's done, then.' Blaise gently grasped Millicent's wrist and propped the hand holding the potion up toward her lips. 'Come on, drink up, sipping at it like that isn't going to do much – take it like a shot of Firewhiskey.'

'How the hell would you know?' Millicent asked amusedly.

'We've tried to sneak it in, but Professor Sinistra catches us every time,' Vince added. 'We think she's got a… a nose for it?'

'Oooh, that was good, Vince.' Pansy gave him a smile she usually only reserved for Draco, who narrowed his eyes. Vince sidled away to Blaise's other side. 'And that's because she's rather more than a social drinker, if you take my meaning.'

'Really?'

'Didn't she and your father have a thing?' Blaise asked.

Draco gave him a very cool look. 'My father is madly in love with my mother, and you'd be wise to shut your mouth about it now.'

'Hey, hey, let's not do this, weren't we going to find somewhere warmer to talk about Millie's mum?' Pansy intervened quickly. 'Come on, up you get.' She stood up and held her hand out.

Millicent took it and stood up. She looked at Blaise and drank the rest of the Calming Draught in one gulp without breaking her gaze.

Blaise raised an eyebrow and gave her a half-smile. 'Glad you appreciate my work, dear.'

'Someone has to,' Millicent replied. 'Where are we going to move to?' She looked at Draco.

Draco got up, shrugged, and spread his hands. 'Wherever you're comfortable. I don't suggest the common room, though. We might attract attention.'

'Pesky seventh-years, think they own the place.' Pansy tossed her hair.

'If that's the case, shouldn't we do it, then?' Vince asked, also rising.

It was Draco's turn to smile. With more successful sentences, Vince would try more complex ones until he stumbled. Then, unfortunately, he would go quiet again. 'You know, Vince, I think you might be right there. Millicent, your thoughts?'

A little smile twitched on Millicent's lips. 'It's very tempting.'

'The best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it,' Greg said suddenly. 'Oscar Wilde.'

Everyone looked at him. Without another word, Greg got up and led the way into the common room.

* * *

Author's Notes: I think I rather like Greg speaking only in quotes, but I'm not sure if I'll keep it - that might end up being the only thing he says for several chapters. The line about Lucius and Professor Sinistra is a tribute to something that happened long ago in a galaxy quite far, far away. I suppose some things don't change.  
If _medicor_ isn't the right word or the right tense, I would LOVE it if someone told me. Schnoogles to whoever does. 


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